


the something to be found

by Onceuponadisneypotter



Series: to say the truth (or lose his love) [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Established Relationship, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Happy Ending, Jaskier's fatal flaw: talking too much, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, especially if you want to keep your immortality secret, me? having a consistent writing style in one series? unrealistic, no beta we die like renfri, not being able to lie can be really frigging annoying sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24794938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onceuponadisneypotter/pseuds/Onceuponadisneypotter
Summary: Jaskier and Geralt travel to a small village so they can join the Fae's Summer Solstice celebrations. Jaskier has his gift for the thousandth anniversary of his mother’s coronation prepared, but there is a nagging feeling like there is something else he has to bring to Court.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: to say the truth (or lose his love) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793359
Comments: 22
Kudos: 258





	the something to be found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rercho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rercho/gifts).



> Hi! This story will probably make 0 sense if you have not read the first part of this series, 'to say the truth (or lose his love)'. I highly recommend you check that one out first! 
> 
> Please note that you don't have to read this piece, TSTT stands completely on his own and has a solid ending, this is just an extra piece inspired by the comments on that fanfic! So if you like the ending of TSTT, you can leave it at that!

They had arrived in the village two days before Summer Solstice, and Jaskier could already feel the presence of his mother. Geralt had noticed it too, of course he had.

“Want to go early?”

Jaskier thought for a moment. “No, let’s stay in the village for a while still. They might have a contract and I can perform. Cheer them up. And joining the Court doesn’t… Doesn’t feel right. There is something here, but I’m not sure what.” That was true. Jaskier felt– something. It was unclear _what_ exactly, but it felt as if part of his mother’s Court was already inside the village, even though he knew it couldn’t be. The first Circle was over a mile away, after all.

“Hm.”

“Yes. Hm.”

* * *

Maira looked down at the forest floor with a frown. She had tried to deny it for the past few days, but it seemed that the time of lying to herself and chalking the strange appearances in the forest up to ‘mere coincidence’ was over. Her village had new neighbours. Fae. Of course she recognised them. She would be a pretty bad healer if she didn’t. Or, well, maybe her position as healer was not completely the reason for recognising the arrival of a Court. She was sure that Jane, her young apprentice, a lovely girl with soft hands and kind eyes, would not recognise a Court if she tripped over it, even though she was remarkably talented in the art of healing. It hadn’t escaped Maira’s notice that the village people had slowly started to prefer her apprentice over her. Nothing much had changed in that regard, anyway. The people she grew up with, who had bullied her, called her names and threw rocks at her, had always been annoyed when they were forced to come to her for help. The oddball, the witch, the _changeling_.

* * *

The village had been warm and welcoming, happy to have someone to kill the drowners in a lake a little while south, and although they did not have a proper inn, the tavern did have a spare room for travellers.

“Two beds…” Jaskier noticed, disappointed.

“We’ll have just one at your home.”

“Then we will have to make up for lost time when we get there, won’t we?” Jaskier winked.

“I’m going to find the local smithery before taking on those drowners. Roach needs a new horseshoe, and my sword needs sharpening.” Before Jaskier could make a joke about _another sword that needs sharpening_ , Geralt pressed a deep kiss to his husband’s lips.

“Will you be back in time for my performance tonight?”

“I’ll try not to be,” Geralt joked, kissing the mock-offended look from Jaskier’s face. “I know how much you love dramatic entrances.”

“Hmm, well, if being fashionably late is the only reason you are not there when I start I will forgive you, just this once. Stay safe.”

Geralt smiled and briefly brushed his hand over the bard’s thighs and up, softly squeezing before leaving the room now filled with the smell of arousal.

“Geral-” was the last he heard as he closed the door behind him with a smirk.

* * *

Maira did not remember a time where she was not an outcast. From an early age she had been strange, different from the rest of her peers. She was a quick learner, sure, but her time at school as mostly spent staring out of the window, wishing she was playing in the forest that surrounded their village for miles. She had, apparently, gone missing on multiple occasions, once even for an entire week. But each time she was found unharmed, if maybe a little tired, somewhere in the woods. It had been enough, however, for parents to start warning their children to stay away from ‘the baker’s kid’. But her time in the forest had given her a lot of knowledge on different plants, so Maira had done the only sensible thing, and became the village’s first-ever healer. Previously, a healer had to be fetched from the nearest village, an hour’s travel by horseback, meaning they would usually arrive too late. And although the people were grateful that Maira helped deliver babies, cure fevers and much, much more, she still heard children whisper cruel rumours, of people locked up in her basement or of attempts to switch the babies she helped deliver with Faerie children. None of them were true, of course. Maira loved to help and heal people, and as far as she knew a Court had only graced the village three times during her lifetime, and she had never interacted with them. She had wanted to, but she had always chickened out at the last moment. It had always felt… off. Maybe this time. Maybe this time she would approach them. Maira sighed, picked the last of her herbs and returned home.

* * *

Jaskier wandered through the village, but the uneasy feeling didn’t get stronger anywhere. It most certainly didn’t have anything to do with any of the people he chatted to, anyway. But it did bring him up to date with the village’s gossip, and resulted in some new tales he could tell at the thousandth anniversary of his mother’s coronation. And it was exactly that celebration that led him to find a calmer spot on the river. He had been working on a song to celebrate the occasion for _months_ , but it still wasn’t enough. The song itself was, of course, he was not ashamed to admit that it was a really good piece. Written completely in Elder, it chronicled the wonderful deeds of his mother through her reign, the many adventures the Court had had and how it had survived and stayed strong through _everything_. He had practised the song over and over again, making slight adjustments until it was _perfect_. He had been confident it was the perfect gift, but since that morning he had suddenly started to doubt himself. There had to be something _else_ , some _other_ gift, something he could find in this village. Something more _significant_ than a song. But he could for the life of him not come up with anything such a rural village could have to offer, and he could always think better when his thoughts were accompanied by the quiet sound of gently flowing water.

* * *

The village was abuzz with the news that a Witcher and a bard had shown up. They had paid for a room for two nights. The Witcher would take care of those annoying drowners in the lake downstream, but the real delight was that the bard had promised to perform that evening in the local tavern. He was, supposedly, a very famous one. Or, at least, that was what he proclaimed himself. Maira had to choke back a laugh when she heard he called himself _Jaskier_ , after the famous travelling bard of old. She supposed it made sense, for someone travelling with a Witcher as the real Jaskier had, but it was a somewhat vain thing to call yourself after the best bard to have ever lived. Maira did not believe he could ever live up to the legend, but, regardless of his skill, it would be nice to have some entertainment in the village. The last time a bard had travelled through was over five years ago. The village could use some joy, especially with the looming threat of the Court hanging over their heads, even though everyone but her was unaware of it. Maybe she could even quietly ask the Witcher to deal with the Fae. Not that she had anything to pay them with, but she could give him some ingredients for free. Dearest Martha was about to give birth, and she would loathe an _actual_ changeling to be raised in the village.

* * *

Jaskier smiled broadly as he took the tiny, hastily-made stage in a corner of the tavern, lighted by several candles and two torches. The barkeep had told him it had been five years since the previous performer had travelled through town, which would explain the fact that seemingly the entire village had shown up to watch him perform. In other words, Jaskier was completely in his element, so much so that he could almost ignore that nagging feeling that there was _something_ there. That _something_ was definitely in the room, so, Jaskier had slowly started to realise when the people had started to arrive, the _something_ might be a _someone_ instead. But he knew his mother had not kept humans captive for centuries, and none of the people in the village, though good-looking, seemed to be his mother’s type. The moment Jaskier took the stage, however, all these worries were forgotten, making place for that wonderfully perfect feeling of performing and being _alive_.

* * *

The bard was good. _Really_ good. Maira almost thought he deserved his chosen name. The Witcher had returned mid-performance, soaking wet and covered in mud, and the bard had sung the old _Toss a Coin_ song, written by his namesake. It had been marvellous, and now, the next morning, the entire village was the happiest she had ever seen. The bard had promised to perform the next evening as well, and the threat that ‘if you don’t behave, you can't come to the performance tonight’ caused every child to be on their very best behaviour. The pair had been invited to stay for the summer solstice celebration the day after, but they had refused. “I am very sorry, I would love to join your marvellous feast!” the bard had announced, “but I fear my companion and I have a previous engagement.” He refused to clarify what, exactly, that engagement was. His songs made clear that he was no stranger to royal courts, but there were none within a week’s travel from the village. Nor was anything else, really. Still, the bard had waved away all their questions with a smile and a song and it had been clear that no, the bard would not perform during the celebrations. But he would tonight, and that, for now, was more than enough.

* * *

“It is nobody we talked to! And yet I still feel like there is something missing!”

“Jaskier, I cannot let you enslave-”

“And I won’t! Who do you think I am? Who do you think my mum is? That Nick deal is ages ago, and she regrets it.”

“Then why?”

Jaskier sighed. “I don’t know! And now I only have my song, and that’s not enough!”

“Your song is beautiful, Jaskier.”

“It is! But I am telling you, it isn’t _complete_ enough!”

“It’s your mum, she’ll love it.”

“It’s her _thousandth-_ ” “Hush!” Jaskier was suddenly cut off as his Witcher carefully scanned their surroundings, suddenly spotting something behind them.

* * *

As Maira returned from the forest to harvest some fresh honeysuckle, she spotted the pair alone, leaning against one of the trees. They seemed to be bickering about something, though neither looked genuinely upset.

“-telling you, it isn’t _complete_ enough!”

“It’s your mum, she’ll love it.”

“It’s her _thousandth-_ ” “Hush!” the Witcher cut the bard off, looking around and spotting her. She smiled and waved, pretending she had not heard the conversation, and approached.

“Sir Witcher, thank you for getting rid of those drowners.” The white-haired man nodded. “I have a request, though I cannot pay you. But I am a healer, and I have quite a lot of herbs in my possession. I heard Witchers make potions to help in battle?”

Maira suddenly started to doubt herself as she looked at the stern, broadly built man, but he just nodded again. “I might be able to help you replenish your stock, free of charge.”

“What do you need?”

“I have found evidence of a Fae Court near the village, sir Witcher.” She expected the man to scowl, or the bard to shiver with fear, but instead the Witcher smiled and the bard laughed.

“We know!” the bard said, happily. “It’s the reason we’re here!”

“Shut up, Jaskier.” There was a warning in the Witcher’s voice, but it did not seem to frighten the bard in the least. He turned back to her. “I can assure you that the Court will not pose a threat to you or your village.” His tone was a clear dismissal. “Do you have wormwood?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

“He means that we would love to buy some of your herbs and pay for them.” The bard translated helpfully. “If you can miss them.”

“Oh, of course. You can come to my house in an hour. It’s on the other side of town, near the well.”

* * *

Aside from his mistrust of the woman most certainly overhearing a part of their conversation, Geralt had to admire the healer. She had many herbs and other potion ingredients, carefully labelled and, according to the labels, very precisely harvested. A lot of the ingredients were not even of use to any healer, yet the contents of the jars and bottles seemed relatively fresh. She truly knew her stuff. Behind him, Jaskier was trying to extract the village gossip from her, shamelessly flirting and improvising a ditty rhyming _mole_ with _soul_ , something Geralt would have to find a suitable… punishment for, he supposed. He could not help but sigh with fondness listening to his bard’s rambling. Lambert had been right, love _had_ made him soft. But he had not been right in thinking that a weakness. Geralt had yet to falter in a fight, but when he was safe he allowed himself to feel, and to show his feelings. Jaskier had quite aggressively stomped his old ‘Witchers don’t have feelings’-mantra out during their travels, and, Geralt considered as he turned the silver wedding band around his finger, trying to claim he didn’t feel was pretty pointless by now. A sudden gasp woke him from his musings, and he swirled around just in time to see the healer’s birthmark in the shape of some sort of flower. Making eye contact with Jaskier confirmed his suspicions: the _something_ Jaskier was looking for wasn’t an item or a slave, but a lost Fae.

* * *

As the Witcher examined her supplies, the bard tried to extract the village gossip from her, shamelessly flirting. She didn’t mind too much though, as the bard was entertaining, to say the least. “Your supplies are better organised than those at Aretuza!” he had exclaimed as he had entered. His compliments were most certainly lies, for she did not believe the bard had ever even been remotely near Aretuza, let alone been inside of it, but it was lovely nonetheless. “Your charm won’t work on me, bard” Maira laughed after he had created a little ditty about _Maira oh so dear / her soft hands you should not fear / she heals your skin, your bone, your mole / yet she cannot heal my wounded soul_. “I am too old and strange to be wooed.”

“Old and strange happens to be _exactly_ my type,” the bard exclaimed, with a pointed look at the Witcher – _Geralt_ , she had learned by now – who merely sighed with fondness. With a surprised shock, Maira suddenly noticed the pair wore wedding rings. She felt a pang of pain as she realised that the poor Witcher was doomed to lose his mortal husband whilst never ageing himself.

“Well, if that is the case, I also have some excellent oils here somewhere…” Maira opened a few cupboards, trying to remember where she left them. Jonathan and Adam, the smiths, had passed away last year, and ever since there had been no demand for the scented oils. As she tried to reach for one of the higher cupboards, she heard the bard gasp. Maira closed her eyes and sighed and knew he had seen the buttercup-shaped spot on her ankle.

“It’s just a birthmark. I am no witch, I am not cursed, and I will not hurt you.”

The bard did not reply, simply briefly making eye contact with his husband, but he kept staring at her strangely throughout the rest of his visit. He tried to hide it, but she had a feeling the man was not very good at hiding his feelings. They paid well though, and who was she to complain about that? It wasn’t like they were the first to look at her strangely after discovering her mark. She wasn’t a changeling, her parents had assured her that much. She had been born with the mark, though back then not yet so well-defined, and her father had always told her it was nothing to be embarrassed about, baking cookies and bread rolls in the shape of the buttercup it had eventually formed into. It hadn’t helped the bullying, and it hadn’t kept her from feeling _off_ every time she traced the mark with her fingers, but it was nice nonetheless.

* * *

“She’s a Fae,” Jaskier stated the moment the door to their room closed behind them.

“She’s old. She’s ageing.”

“She must be half-Fae. And one from my mum’s Court, she _has_ to be. Didn’t you see the buttercup mark? If she has never visited a Circle before she would still age!” Jaskier slowly started to become more and more enthusiastic. “Don’t you see, it’s _her_! She is the something!”

“And what are you going to do? Kidnap the village’s only healer?”

“She isn’t the _only_ healer, she has a very talented apprentice, and most people prefer the apprentice anyway, they’re too scared of Maira. And come on, you must have heard what those friends told that sneezing kid about ‘the crazy witch healer’.”

“Kidnapping is still frowned upon.” Geralt remarked.

Jaskier sighed. “Get out of here with your logic. She’s a Fae and she doesn’t even know it! I wonder who her parents are… Do you think her mum’s a Fae? Or maybe her dad?”

“Hm.”

“Helpful, as ever.”

“That’s what I’m here for, bard.”

* * *

That evening Maira joined the rest of the crowd in the tavern to listen to the bard’s second, and final, performance. From her hidden spot – nobody liked to look at the person who had seen them at their weakest whilst partying – she observed the man on stage, remembering how he had stared at her. There was nothing of that strange glow in his eyes now. No, during his performance the man brightened the whole room, and looking at him made you feel like he truly knew what it was like to celebrate and enjoy life. He sang song after song, occasionally taking a little break to tell the stories that inspired them.

“One day, Geralt was told he had to fight a cockatrice. Turned out the village was really attacked by a gryffin. But I can tell that you are much smarter than the people from that village, and you would not make such a grievously stupid mistake.”

“One day we were travelling and we accidentally awoke a Kikimore. Or, well, _I_ accidentally awoke a Kikimore and had Geralt clean up the mess.”

“I sang this song at the Cintran court once, of course Queen Calanthe was not happy-” At this comment he briefly turned red and quickly started playing.

Maira frowned. There had not been a Queen Calanthe for almost a century, not after the sacking of Cintra by the Nilfgaardians. And there was no way that the bard had visited _her_ court, for he looked thirty years old at most. Now the Witcher, he could possibly be that ancient. But if he was one of the first created Witchers, not those created in the past hundred years during the Witcher Resurgence, he had been very lucky indeed to stay alive that long. Or very cowardly, but, for some reason, she doubted that.

Jaskier ended the night with an ancient lullaby, and Maira was about to leave the tavern when something the old Andrews widow asked stopped her in her tracks.

“Where did you learn that last lullaby, boy? My grandmother used to sing it to me, and I have not heard it in ages.”

The bard smiled kindly. “At Oxenfurt, madam.”

In the dark light of the tavern, Maira could barely see the ancient woman, bent over and heavily leaning on her staff, tired from staying up so late, shake her head. “I thought Oxenfurt burned down fifty years ago.”

A flash of hurt could be found on Jaskier’s face, but just briefly. “That is true. I-” It seemed like he was trying to say something, but physically unable to do so. “I-” He thought for a moment. “I have heard my mother si-” a grunt, as if the words hurt him. “Play it. I am happy to see you enjoyed it. Do you need help to get home?” the bard skilfully distracted the old woman from the question which seemed so painful. 

Maira looked at the Witcher, staring at Jaskier with a look of concern. There was something about those two that was _off._ She couldn’t exactly put her finger on it, but the combination of the Witcher, who must have lived for centuries now, and the bard’s strange, out-of-place historical references made her feel like there was more to the pair than she anticipated.

* * *

Geralt slammed the door shut behind them. “You _really_ need to stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Talking!”

Jaskier looked offended. “Excuse me? I thought we were past this ‘ooh I am Geralt hurr-durr I only want silence and loneliness and a pitiful life’-thing!”

“That’s not what I meant! But one day people will find out, if you keep talking about Oxenfurt and Queen Calanthe! They don’t exist anymo-”

“ **I KNOW!** ” Jaskier cut him off, a painful look on his face. “I know,” he repeated, calmer. “But it’s not like I can _lie_ about it. Fae, remember?”

“I thought Fae were supposed to be able to talk around these situations.” Geralt grumbled.

“I’m out of practice. As you may have noticed, I have not spent a lot of time in Court the past few decades.”

“I know Jaskier. But you have to be more careful. You shouldn’t have spread that ballad about a Fae prince travelling with a Witcher, it’s going to be the death of us one day.”

“And _what_ a way to go. Don’t tell me you don’t like that ballad, I know you do.”

Geralt smiled. He indeed could not deny that, it _was_ a really good song, regardless of the danger it could bring them in.

“Now, why don’t you help me with a plan to get Maira with us to Court. How do you feel about kidnapping? Can we temporarily poison her so she’s knocked out?”

* * *

Before going home, Maira took Jane with her to harvest some cattails along the river.

“Do you remember how to harvest them?”

“Always at night, and only when you are in a happy mood,” Jane dutifully recited. “And make sure not to touch the brown bits.”

Maira nodded. “I think this village has no use for me anymore,” she only half-joked. “You are a smart woman, I’m proud of you.” Maira had painful memories of her own apprenticeship under a severe man, who had always criticised her. She, all those years ago, had told herself to never be that cruel should she ever get an apprentice herself. And she had, so far, lived up to that promise.

“Thank you,” Jane smiled, and the two went to work.

“What are you humming?”

“Oh! I don’t know actually…” Jane paused her work for a moment and, with a concentrated face continued humming till she reached the chorus.

“ _And a hey, ho, Witcher and Fae_

_And a hey, ho, chasing monsters away_

_Hey, ho forever and day_

_Hey, ho true lovers are they_

It’s that old ballad of the Witcher travelling with the Fae prince. I think I was reminded of it because of the Witcher in our midst right now. Do you reckon he knows that Fae prince? Do you think they have ever met?”

Maira had once seen a strange wooden toy in a carpenter’s store. It was a box with 6 colourful sides, and each side made up of three by three blocks. He could turn them around to mix up the colours, and for a halfpenny you could try to make the sides match again. When the colours were aligned, the box opened with a loud _click_ and you could claim the treasure inside. She had managed to solve that puzzle once, and Maira remembered how, after a while of aimlessly turning, she had suddenly _seen_ the solution. And now she felt the exact same.

The Witcher hadn’t just _met_ the Fae prince, the Witcher was _trav_ _elling with_ the Fae prince. But that meant that Jaskier was – that meant that the bard _was_ the famous Jaskier. Maira shook her head, unwilling to believe her own conclusions, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Travelling with a Witcher, mentioning Aretuza, Queen Calanthe and Oxenfurt… And now that she thought about it, she believed she had heard the bard mention the Battle of Sodden Hill the previous night as well.

“I think we have enough cattails for now. Go to bed, tomorrow's the Summer Solstice, you'll need the energy for the celebrations.”

And both still in a daze, Jane dreaming of a Fae prince and Maira connecting more and more dots about the very real Fae prince present in the village, the two went home.

* * *

“Are you sure we can’t just kidnap her, Geralt?”

“I am very sure.”

Jaskier sighed. The two had barely slept, and were now, at first light, walking towards the healer’s cottage. “Then what should I say? ‘Hi, I am Jaskier, the High Prince of the Summer Court, and I happened to notice you’re at least half-Fae, want to come attend my mother’s thousandth coronation party?’”

“Well, you can maybe tone it down on the title-dropping, but yes, that sounds good.”

“Just a teensy-tiny kidnap?”

Before Geralt could answer that, or before any of the two could knock, the door to Maira’s cottage opened.

“Your majesty the Fae prince, I presume?”

Jaskier gaped.

“I’m sorry, I promise I will not tell anyone. Just please- please tell me how it is in a Fae Court. I’ve-” the middle-aged woman looked shy. “I’ve always wanted to see one up close.”

Jaskier just continued to stare. “You- know?”

“I think I am the only one who figured it out. But with your references to Queen Calanthe and Oxenfurt and...” Her voice faltered

“Oh. Okay. Good. Good. So. Ehm. Wait. This was not in the script I had mentally prepared. Can we do this again? Hi, I am Jaskier, the High Prince of the Summer Court, and I happened to notice you’re at least half-Fae, want to come attend my mother’s thousandth coronation party?”

Geralt punched him in the ribs.

“I’m _what_?”

“Ow- Half-Fae... Ooww Geralt, just because I’m immortal does not mean I can’t feel pain.”

“I am aware of that.”

“I will get you back for that.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“ _Ahem._ ”

“Oh. Sorry. So, we’re going to my mum’s Court, want to come with? Do you have any idea which of your parents could be Fae? I bet it’s your father. You look a bit like Hawthorn. Doesn’t she look a bit like Hawthorn, Geralt?”

“I am very sorry, but I- I am not a changeling. My parents assured me they kept a constant eye on me in the first weeks of my life. There is no way-”

“I didn’t say changeling! There haven’t been changelings in _years._ I said half-Fae. Totally different. Changelings are fully Fae.”

“But- how?”

“Your birthmark. It’s not just an ordinary birthmark, it’s the sign of my mother’s Court. Everyone who belongs to the Court has one, it’s a convenient way to keep track of who belongs to which Queen, you know. And you're lucky you belong to us, those ruled by Sindri have a _rock,_ can you ima-?”

“What Jaskier means,” Geralt interrupted. “Is that the buttercup mark on your ankle is not simply a birthmark or a weirdly shaped freckle. It’s a sign that at least one of your parents were part of the Court of Jaskier’s mother. I understand this is a lot to take in but-”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“I will come with you. Yes. Please. I- Let me just leave a note for Jane.”

* * *

And so they went, the three of them, into the woods. As Jade returned to Maira’s cottage a day after the celebrations, she found a lifeless house with a simple note on the kitchen table, informing her that the place was all hers, and that she would be a more appropriate healer for the village than Maira could ever be. Although she originally panicked, she indeed quickly grew into her role as primary healer, her first big triumph being successfully helping Martha give birth to a wonderfully healthy baby boy.

Maira was never seen again, nor would anyone have recognised her if she had. Upon stepping into the Fae Circle the years had glided off of her like water off a duck’s back. She was warmly welcomed as the missing piece for the wonderful festivities. Hawthorn, who indeed was her biological father, had explained that Maira’s father had been born in the body of a woman and that, after saving Hawthorn's life, Maira’s parents had made a deal with him so that Maira’s mother would become pregnant.

Jaskier’s long ballad of his mother’s many achievements was welcomed with cheers and awe, and, after al the celebrations were over and done, Geralt and Jaskier retreated to the former’s room, which did contain only _one_ bed, thank you very much. It was completely beside the point that that particular bed was twice the size as the entire guestroom in the village had been, but what _was_ important was that the two more than made up for lost time. Geralt made sure to properly punish Jaskier for his awful _mole/soul_ rhyme and Jaskier made Geralt pay for his punch in the ribs.

And it is perhaps a surprise to nobody that, as Jane was training her own apprentice, a soft-spoken young boy dark hair, a troubadour travelled through town with a song of a baker in love, a Fae in peril, and a half-Fae healer who attends the Court’s injuries and bakes the best bread-rolls anyone has ever tasted.

**Author's Note:**

> So, leave it to me to write a follow-up story that is longer than the original. I usually don't really like OCs in fanfics, but hey, here I am writing one myself. I hope you like her! I have to admit, her name 100% stems from me mistyping 'Maria' & deciding I liked 'Maira' better for this fantasy setting. I hope you enjoyed reading this. Once again, I want to thank the Witcher fandom for being so incredibly kind and welcoming. I am but a tiny untalented goblin compared to the other geraskier fics I have read, so I am overwhelmed by the love you guys have given 'to say the truth'. And this fic is once again proof that comments help, because it was 100% inspired by the comments rercho left!


End file.
